


Love and Leather

by bbgrl_12



Series: Love and Leather Series [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Actor Tom Hiddleston, F/M, Teacher Tom Hiddleston
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 12:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17467745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbgrl_12/pseuds/bbgrl_12
Summary: I am not good with summaries





	Love and Leather

His shirt was loose fitting around his frame, hands tightly wrapped around a work of fiction that we keep near the back of the store. Nobody but him really goes back there. It's where we keep the ancient pieces of work mixed with the occasional poetic master. But for some reason, we always find him lost back in the stacks with his fingers trailing the leather bound seams of the books. I would be lying if I said he wasn't captivating. More than once, I had caught myself staring at his lanky frame leaning against the rickety bookshelves with his eyes fixated on the words strewn across whatever book he had picked up that night. I knew he could tell I was watching him most times. It wasn't hard to find out when someone is gawking at you but he has never said a word about it. He always buys whatever caught his eye that night and gives a kind smile, one that made his eyes twinkle just the right way and made the person he was giving it to feel like just maybe they had a chance with the walking model. But they never do.

"Ms. Green, I was wanting to know where I would find the Fifty Shades series? My daughter has just raved on and on about it and, well, it's about time I read something like that again." An older lady, one whose fingers were frail to the touch and shook every time she moved her hand, had tore my attention away from the man at the back of the building. Her name was Genevieve Greyson and was slowly approaching the ripe age of 80. She was one of the kindest ladies that had graced the doorway of the bookstore to this day. I gave her a polite smile, slowly directing her to the section of the building that was off limits to children.

"That would be in our adult section, Mrs. Greyson, right next to magazines. You enjoy that story and you tell the grandkids I said hello, okay?" I watched, eyes keeping a careful glance at her shaky body parading through the bookstore to the area where I had just previously directed her towards, before turning back around to go back to the register. My fingers hovered over the piece of work that was kept hidden underneath the desk, eyes slowly finding their way around the store once more to find the man had moved to hover around the notebooks that held so much potential.

I had noticed that he lingered around there more times than one every other time he came into the store, as if he was wanting to pick up righting but couldn't quite find that push to start it. It was almost like he had known the passion before, became very familiar with the way his fingers gripped the pen and the way the ink flowed across the page with such poise, but lost the love along the way. My lips pursed before looking down where my fingers were still hanging above the piece of fiction written by Ernest Hemingway. It was a piece of work that I had yet to read but had always wanted to. Soft footsteps had brought me out of my trance, my eyes coming back into focus to find the man in question standing in front of me with a polite smile on his face.

"Work that boring, eh?" His voice was smooth, like velvet, and soft against the atmosphere surrounding our bodies. I gave a light chuckle before reaching for the books in his hands to check him out. E.E Cummings and W.H Auden, the best selling poets despite our vast collection. I would be lying if I didn't say I had rest most of the poets we had back there, and some even more than once, Auden falling under the latter category, and as my fingers ran along the spine of the book, I couldn't help but recite my favorite line of his.

"I'll love you, dear, I'll love you till China and Africa meet, and the river jumps over the mountain and the salmon sing in the street. I'll love you til the ocean is folded and hung up to dry, and the seven stars go squawking like geese about the sky." The words had flown through my chapped lips with ease as the dinging from the scanner echoed throughout the smaller bookstore located on the corner of Main Street. That line held a sort of safety for my younger self when I first started here, and, while I may have not read that particular work in a few months at least, it still bounced around my head constantly. "W.H. Auden, one of my favorites."

I lifted the book by the poet in question, watching as the man's eyes who had now turned bright with wonderment slowly looked down at my hands wrapped around the poet's piece. He gave me a knowing smile, the right corner of his lips upturned only slightly to show the bottom of his top teeth, with his curls hanging in front of his eyes.

"You know it?"

"Yeah, I read his work almost every day when I first started here. It helped me get through the nerves of a new job." Soft crinkling had overtaken our short lived conversation as I bagged his newly found books. I could still feel his eyes on me. How could I miss it? With the way they shone underneath the dim light and how it sent shivers down my spine every time he looked in my direction, with him watching me as I put his purchases away, my face become a faded pink tint with blush. Biting my lip lightly, I passed him the faded milky white bag with a kind smile. "Here you go. Enjoy your books."

"I will. Thank you . . ." He hesitated on the last half of his sentence, eyes dropping down to the dirty name tag attached to my ripped Aerosmith tour shirt I stole from an ex boyfriend. "Bowie."

My first name poured over his tongue with ease, as if it was meant for him to say, and he gave me a smile before turning around.

"You too . . ."

"The name's Tom. I'll catch you around, Bowie." With that, the man named Tom had pushed open the door leading outside and disappeared into the crowd of people forming on the streets.


End file.
